


Sharp

by Petyrs



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Throne Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-16
Updated: 2013-08-16
Packaged: 2017-12-23 17:59:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/929428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Petyrs/pseuds/Petyrs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tywin once lamented his lady wife could be more adventurous in their bed. Or beyond it. {Written for tumblr user GoldAndLegacy}</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sharp

There were no guards to mark their passing. Sansa wondered if he had gone so far as to reassign them, or if Tywin simply knew the precise moments when the halls of the Keep would be blind to their movements. Both were certainly within the realm of possibility where the Lion of Casterly Rock was concerned.

He held her hand in a fierce grip. Not being a man known for his outward expression of trepidation, she could only assume it was a fear of her turning and running back to their rooms that created the tension in his fingers. The whisper of her lightest gown was the only noise chasing them towards the center of the castle; her husband was walking quickly but with a hunter’s tread, soundless, while Sansa danced over the flagstones in silk slippers, taking one and a half steps for each stretch of his legs.

When they passed a door she knew opened onto the side of the room Sansa faltered, but the soft press of his hand urged her onward. Rounding a corner they were soon facing enormous double doors, deceptively easy to open when Tywin’s other palm fell flat against one. Of course he would want to walk the entire hall. Now he directed her to enter before him, the only soul in the cavernous throne room for a brief moment before she heard the door whisper shut, felt him behind her.

A warm hand fell to the small of her back and she began creeping forward, her husband scant inches behind her now instead of ahead. As Sansa drew nearer to the amalgamation of conquered swords her breathing quickened, filling the barest fraction of her lungs. Raising her foot to ascend the first step was when her body refused to continue cooperating. Joffrey had ordered her beaten here, humiliated and stripped her bare before the entire court. This was madness, Tywin could not possibly expect her to follow through.

Her husband had already made it half the distance to the steely seat when his hand fell away and he turned back to face her. The edges of his face tightened in irritation at the perceived defiance, falling again when he took in the look of terror on Sansa’s face. Fingertips still resting on her hip swept up her side, along her shoulder, following the curve of her neck to cup her cheek. Tywin’s other arm wrapped about her waist and pulled her flush against him; each could feel the heat of the other through their thin clothing and it began to melt the tension in her slender frame as her arms twined around his neck.

Closing the distance between them, he tilted her chin to better catch her lips in a soft kiss. After a moment his tongue began imploring to gain entrance, and when Sansa acquiesced his hold tightened and merged them into one. Deftly, and keeping them pressed together at their hips and mouths, Tywin took careful steps backwards towards the throne. His hunger grew more and more apparent until the backs of his knees met iron; by then his hand was roaming the full length of her back and the smooth curves beyond it, while the kiss firmed and threatened to wander beyond the edges of her lips.

Sansa, for her part, was trying desperately to enjoy the attentions she cherished in their rooms. But memory weighed too heavily here, no matter what she had promised her husband. When he felt her begin to tremble, Tywin pulled back once more and pinched her chin in a firm grip. Emerald irises captured the low burning fires along the edges of the room and held her in thrall. “I will not hurt you, my lady.” This treatment would have terrified her a few short months ago, _had_ terrified her the night of their wedding. But tonight she knew what to take it as- a sign of Tywin’s enduring patience where she was concerned. That calmed her more than his muttered promise, the reminder that he was conscious of her limitations and merely sought to guide her past them.

Nodding against his fingers, Sansa’s hands descended to his chest, rising and falling steadily despite the burgeoning arousal beginning to press on her stomach. “I know you won’t.” With that, she increased the pressure of her touch until her husband understood and sank into the unforgiving chair. The hand on her chin fell to the hollow of her throat, drifting lower between the swell of her breasts. All the while Tywin sat with his head tilted against the chair back, quenching the first stirrings of lust with the sight of his wife standing before him crowned in an auburn halo.

His remaining digits joined their sibling at her sternum and fanned out across Sansa’s stomach, finally sliding along the dip of her waist and clutching at it; emulating her earlier prodding, Tywin’s fingertips dug into her flesh and directed her to press against his knees. Their legs met in a gentle collision and one of his stretched out, encouraging hers to part beneath the flimsy gown; his pull increased until she fell to straddle his lap with a graceful stumble.

Sansa’s gasp echoed through the room. She bit her lip at the outburst but Tywin’s mouth merely tightened in his most common imitation of a smile. Despite the risk, then, he wanted her vocal. His hips lifted from their seat to grind against her, his cock almost fully erect now between them. A free hand rummaged amongst the skirts of her dress, gathering and pushing it aside until his fingers found their prize between her legs.

She was barely damp, the worry clearly eating at her more than the thrill, but he knew how to amend that. Always watching for a response, any indication that his efforts were satisfactory, Tywin ran a single finger through her folds and began tracing light circles around the small nub above them. “Close your eyes,” he murmured. If Sansa could forget, only for a moment, where she was it would be a far easier task to bring her up to his state. Complying, her breathing slowed and deepened; before long it had regressed back to soft pants, but now his hand was slick and she was making small encouraging movements against it.

“Sansa.” Her eyes flew open, their bright azure taking in exactly where she was again, exactly _what_ she was doing there. “Unlace me.” Tywin was not about to relinquish the purchase he had found between her legs, two fingers sliding inside of his wife while his thumb continued to coax involuntary tremors from her, and she clearly needed the balance the hand at her back provided. With a brisk nod her hands fell on his breeches, working away at the knots with nimble fingers. He always undressed himself. Always.

When his breeches had been loosened, the liberating hand dipped beneath the fabric and wrapped around his shaft to draw it free. Sansa’s hold was assured, a far cry from the tentative grazing he had managed to coax from her in the early days of their marriage. Now she knew what she was doing and now _he_ was beneath _her_. Tywin groaned, his head falling to her shoulder as she continued her firm strokes from root to tip.

In return he began to curl his fingers within her as if he could beckon her pleasure closer, but she had been learning in their bed as well. “--Stop. Stop!” Tywin’s voice rang out. It was too much, far too much and this was not how the exercise was supposed to end. Fingers covered in Sansa’s wetness snatched at her pumping hand and forced it to his shoulder while the hand on her back shoved her along his legs until that sweet, wet heat was pressed against his cock. Both began working their hips against the other, trying to encourage a joining without additional aid. She had been so close herself, so Sansa began to chase her own pleasure against him, but Tywin was far too frustrated for that.

“Arms. Neck. _Now_.” She would have to support herself, and well, because what shreds of patience he had been clinging to were gone. When he felt the bulk of her weight rest between his shoulder blades, Tywin took her hip in one bruising grip and positioned her while holding himself steady in the other hand.

“ _Please_ …” Her gasping plea was all it took; an instant later Sansa was pushed home, pelvis flush against his. She dug her teeth into the soft skin where shoulder met neck to contain a moan. Both hands now on his wife’s hips, Tywin held them pressed close together for a long moment before starting to encourage a gentle rocking motion. Not only did the movement ensure he remained deep inside her, the locus of her pleasure ground against him. She was already on edge, groaning against him at being denied again and again; now she could wait no longer.

Sansa put more weight into the undulations as she felt a swooping pressure start to build. If it were possible, she grew tighter around her husband. “Not yet, Sansa. Not yet,” he ground out, wanting to savor the experience a little longer “No, Tywin. Please. No. Just let me…” She worked harder against him and he was powerless to stop her. Her hips lost all sense of rhythm, pulling at his cock in one, two sharp jerks and then pressing down on him as they moved in tight, quick circles. “ _Tywin_ -!” No more than a soft whine absorbed by his flesh, but the sound reverberated against him with as much pulsing ecstasy as Sansa’s intimate hold.

He tried to hold on through the throbbing, shuddering event but her walls were insistent. “ _Fuck_.” Nails bit into her side as one hand slapped against the arm of the Iron Throne in objection to the orgasm he could not prevent. Without looking, Tywin knew he had drawn blood and that was the last coherent thought before he seized under her, head falling back as his own hips adopted a selfish, erratic tempo. “Fuck, _Sansa_.” Still terrified of being heard, Sansa moved to swallow his groans, her tongue thrust into his mouth in a heated kiss. Slowly, they rode out their pleasure together, breathing down each other’s throats, allowing their hands to roam free when the most powerful spasms had passed.

At last, when only the faintest tremors remained, husband and wife drew apart to face each other, saying nothing. Tywin’s face was but an unmasked expression of slaked lust, fully satisfied in the woman above him and the act they had shared. Sansa, by contrast, looked down triumphantly with blazing topaz eyes.

He could never say she refused to try something new again.

 


End file.
